by Ora Wilde
All Rights Reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced or distributed, either manually or digitally, without the prior written consent of the author. Brief excerpts for the purpose of reviews are allowed.
WARNING:
This eBook contains graphic portrayals of sex. It is not intended for readers below 18 years of age.
DISCLAIMER:
None of the sexual acts depicted in this eBook involve minors, nor partners related in blood. The sexual acts depicted herein are all consensual.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
1. CONNER
2. MEG
3. CONNER
4. MEG
5. CONNER
6. MEG
7. CONNER
8. MEG
9. CONNER
10. MEG
11. CONNER
12. MEG
13. CONNER
14. MEG
15. CONNER
16. MEG
17. CONNER
18. MEG
19. CONNER
20. MEG
21. CONNER
22. MEG
23. CONNER
24. MEG
25. CONNER
26. MEG
27. CONNER
28. MEG
29. CONNER
30. MEG
31. CONNER
32. MEG
33. CONNER
34. MEG
35. CONNER
36. MEG
37. CONNER
38. MEG
39. CONNER
40. MEG
41. CONNER
42. MEG
43. CONNER
44. MEG
Message From The Author
More From Ora Wilde
An Excerpt From
FUBU: A Stepbrother Romance
Chapter One
CONNER
The motherfucker called me a fag during the presscon? Well, fuck him! I took him down with a single leg sweep just when his roundhouse missed. Before he knew it, I was swarming him with punches and all he could do was cover his pretty lil’ face with his forearms.
And he thought it would be over?
I’ve barely just begun.
He said he was gonna make me his bitch? I gave him an elbow to the nose and blood sprouted out of his nostrils immediately, like how water would flow from the faucet as soon as it was turned. I smirked at the sight of his gory face as blood quickly covered the area around his mouth. He looked like a fucking zombie... a fucking ugly zombie!
And if that cocksucker thought that I was done, he had another thing coming.
He said he was gonna make me retire at 17 and 1? Bull fucking shit! No one’s gonna beat me. Not Quincy Johnson. Not Anton Russev. Not even Johnny Jones. I’m fucking invincible! I wasn’t meant to lose. I wasn’t born to lose. Specially not to a second rate, non-drawing whiny bitch like him. I slapped his face before planting another elbow to his forehead just for entertaining that stupid thought.
He lost all consciousness after that. His hands fell on the canvass as the lights went out on him.
Fuck that!
I wasn’t done with the douchebag!
I kept striking his face... his eyes, his nose, his cheeks, his jaw... anything I could find. I didn’t want his own wife to recognize him once I was through. Hell, I didn’t want him to recognize himself once he woke up...
If the motherfucker even woke up, that is.
I felt the referee’s hands around my chest as he tried to pull me away from my fallen foe.
But I didn’t let him stop me.
The shit head wronged me... insulted me... doubted me... treated me like I was his equal... fuck that! I was gonna teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget. I kept punching, elevating my body a little to sneak in some kicks to his ribs. Hard kicks. Powerful kicks. His bones cracked even more with every blow.
I heard the bell ring incessantly. I heard the crowd scream in terror. I saw officials and trainers rush inside the octagon, running towards me.
Fuck them all!
I kept punching and kicking the dickwad like he was a sack of potato.
“McXavier, enough!” The referee screamed as he tried to squeeze his burly body between me and my prey. I just pushed him away and he stumbled on the ground.
And I kept punching and kicking the fucking asswipe.
Then, what seemed like a hundred pairs of arms dragged me away from my opponent and pulled me towards the other end of the cage. They were holding my fists, but I kept kicking... though I hit nothing but air.
And I realized I was screaming.
Like a madman.
A raving lunatic.
Drooling in fury.
“Calm down, son,” one of the guys in a suit said as he placed his palm on my chest in an attempt to pacify me. Pacify me for what? It was a ring. It was a battlefield. It was a fucking war. Warriors don’t need to be repressed. They’re bred for just one thing... domination. So I jerked my body to get away from his touch as well as the restraints of the hands holding me down. I lunged towards the fucking ass biscuit who was still lying motionless in the middle of the canvass. But more hands and more bodies got in the way.
I was still screaming.
I was still raving.
And, belatedly, I discovered that I was also smiling.
All the fury, all the violence, all the mayhem...
I liked it.
I liked it a lot.
The ring was quickly filled by people - some I knew, some I didn’t, all of whom I disliked - and the men who were restraining me carried me out of the cage. I could hear the audience jeer. I gave them a look and a dirty finger. They booed even louder, hurling a hundred different kinds of invectives that made me gleeful because I actually made them feel that disgusted.
The men, most of whom were security personnel as I soon discovered, brought me down the aisle, in the midst of a madding crowd that was screaming for my head. I wished I had the time to look at them - all of them - straight in the eyes to tell them that I hated each and every one of them just as much as they hated me, if not more.
As soon as we reached the lockers, the security staff finally released me. I gave them dagger looks. To their credit, though, they were professional - or intelligent - enough to walk the other way.
Artemis Duggan ran towards me, his small, chubby frame bouncing up and down as he strode past the door and through the men who were going out.
“Damn, Conner, what have you done?” he asked with a tone of exasperation.
“I beat him up,” I answered with a grin. “That’s what I’m paid to do, correct?”
“You almost killed him!” he exclaimed, disbelieving his own words.
“Fuck that, Art! Every time a fucking fighter enters that eight-sided circle, they know that they’ll be risking their lives. It was either him or me.”
“Conner... he was out! The ref called for the bell! It was over! But you kept... you kept... you kept beating him up! What was that all about?”
“Heh!” I dismissed his concern. “That pussy face called me a fag, remember?”
“It was a damn press con, Conner,” he tried to explain. “He was hyping up the fight to generate interest! He could’ve called you worse things, and you should even thank him for it!”
“Thank him for it?” I asked incredulously. “Thank him for calling me a queer?”
“Yes! Because people love that shit! They’ll pay their hard-earned money to watch you guys fight!”
I removed my grappling gloves and threw them on the floor.
“Well I don’t give a fucking shit about that hype crap,” I said. “The bastard called me a fag! No one calls me a fag!”
Artemis shook his head,
his palm covering his face.
“This is bad, Conner... this is very bad,” he muttered.
“What’s bad?”
“This! The press is all over your case! The Nevada Commission will want your license revoked! You can be indicted for attempted voluntary manslaughter!”
“And?” I didn’t get what the fuss was all about. Those fucking agencies, they’ll do their thingamajig just to show people that they’re not sitting idly behind their desks, fattening their hairy asses. I didn’t care about them at all.
“And?” Artemis couldn’t believe what he might’ve perceived as my nonchalant demeanor. “And? Conner... this could be the end of your career...”
“What do you mean?”
“Without a damn license, you won’t be able to fight.”
“Will they at least allow me to fight Johnny Jones? I earned that fucking title shot.”
“No, they won’t.” he gloomily replied without even looking at me.
“What do you mean, Art? I just beat Donner! I earned that title shot! You’re my fucking agent! Tell them that I’m next in line!”
“I... I can’t do that, Conner...”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Well, first, you can’t fight without your license... something which the Nevada Commission will most certainly try to take away from you. Not only that... with this stunt you pulled off? You might as well say goodbye to that Reebok endorsement deal. They will definitely withdraw their offer... maybe as early as tomorrow... maybe as early as tonight...”
“Then don’t let those happen!” I ordered him. “Isn’t that why I pay you ten percent?”
“Eight percent actually,” he corrected, reminding me that I once haggled for a lower rate. “Anyway... I wish it was that easy, Conner... but there’s one other thing...”
“And what is that?”
“You didn’t earn that title shot...”
“Bull fucking shit! I earned it! I just beat Donner! You saw it! Everyone in the fucking universe saw it! I’m the new number one contender! I’m the mandatory opponent for that cunt of an excuse for a champion!”
“Errr.... Conner... you didn’t beat Donner...”
“What?!”
“They... they reversed the decision. They disqualified you. Donner won that match.”
I wanted to explode right there and then. I wanted to ram my fists against the wall until the surface broke or my knuckles shattered. I wanted to kick the wooden bench that was in front of me. I wanted to rip the locker doors off their fucking hinges. I wanted to beat the shit out of the first guy who would walk into the room.
But somehow...
Somehow...
I was paralyzed with the realization that something I held most dear has been taken away from me.
“You’re no longer undefeated, Conner,” Artemis continued. “You’re now seventeen and one.”
Chapter Two
MEG
He licked my neck like he always did every single time when he brought me home from our date and we’d spend the last few minutes in his car until we say our farewells for the day.
He was such a masterful make out artist. He’d start with the neck, before gliding his tongue towards my ear, nibbling its lobe until I release that soft moan I always fail to curtail. Then he would insert the entirety of his tongue through the opening of my ear until my moans would get louder which, again, would almost be a certainty. All the while, his hand would be exploring the soft skin underneath my shirt... or my blouse... or my dress as was the case that evening... and I’d let him... for as long as he doesn’t go beyond second base.
Music from DWZZ would play in the background, their station broadcasted love songs 24/7. It added to the romantic feel of those moments that have become very endearing for me.
That night, though, he attempted something forbidden... a line that we have previously agreed that we shouldn’t cross.
As he left my ear and proceeded to my lips where my tongue met his, clashing with so much passion that expressed how much we yearned for each other, his hand left my breast and slowly slid downwards...
Past my belly button...
Into the seam of my thong...
Reaching for the slit of my womanhood...
I quickly withdrew my body away from him as I pushed him away.
“Lucas... wait... what are you doing?” I asked him with a semblance of rage and a profusion of alarm.
He just laughed off my panic.
“Meggy honey... we’ve been together for what? Three years now?” he said with the confidence of a good-looking and well-built young man who has earned his first million at the age of twenty-two by playing the stock market so cleverly well... which, in fact, he was.
“Lucas... we talked about this,” I reminded him. “Numerous times!”
“But why?” he questioned. It wasn’t the first time he asked it, but it was only then when he delivered that query with strong insistence.
“You know why,” I told him lovingly, hoping to defuse the tension that has already ruined what should’ve been a beautifully tender evening.
“That you’re not ready?” There was a tinge of sardonicism in his voice.
“Yes,” I simply replied, hoping that he’d get a clue how much his tone has slighted me.
“When will you be ready?” he asked, still quite irately as he grabbed his jacket from the backseat and started to put it on.
“Lucas... I don’t know... these things... they’re not planned... you just... I dunno... feel it when the time is right...”
“So... when will you feel that it’s the right time?”
I looked at him in disbelief without even concealing the shock painted on my face. How could he even ask that question? He always said that he’d respect me and part of respecting me was respecting my decisions. Why was he being so insensitively churlish all of a sudden?
I got so mad at him at that instance.
He noticed.
Then he gave me that look... with his bright blue eyes almost moistening despite being slightly covered by his medium length hair of gold, with his mouth curling into a pout without abandoning the manliness of his solidly sculpted chin and a jawline that was fit for a Greek god, with his hand - big and strong - wiping his nose as if he was about to break out into tears...
And my heart melted.
It was so easy to forget about what he did that insulted me. It was easier to forgive him for such an insignificant transgression.
But before I could give him a smile to say that all was well again, the music from the radio stopped, replaced by a man’s voice that seemed quite agitated.
“And we’re here outside the MGM Grand, awaiting the departure of Conner “The Savior” McXavier, who, just moments ago, almost killed his opponent, Bruce Donner, in an XFC event in this desert city.”
Oh. My. God.
Lucas was about to ask me what was wrong.
“I have to go,” I told him before he could even open his mouth.
Before I could leave his car, however, our front door opened and Uncle Benny - my stepdad - came barging out with brisk and heavy steps. He was very angry. The reason for his fury was obvious.
“Uncle Benny!” I cried out, hoping to catch his attention.
It was a futile attempt.
He walked past our driveway, into the street, and in a matter of seconds, he was gone from my sight.
“Meg, what’s wrong?” Lucas asked with concern as he stepped out of his vehicle.
“Family crisis,” I told him. “Let’s call it a night, please. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He was still worried about me, but he knew that what I was dealing with was a very private matter. So he kissed me on the cheek and said his farewell.
I went straight to our house.
The living room was empty. But the TV was on, showing the live broadcast of what seemed like a recently concluded XFC match. Someone was being interviewed, but I couldn’t understand what they were talking
about. Something that involved sanctions and revocations and criminal charges.
Then the interview concluded, and the channel showed a replay of the last few seconds of the bout.
I almost fainted as I watched.
“Mom!” I yelled from the living room as soon as I witnessed the feed on the 32” LED TV that my stepdad just purchased last weekend.
“What? What is it?” she asked as she emerged from the kitchen to join me in the sofa.
“Look at the TV, mom,” I told her. “Isn’t that Uncle Benny’s kid?”
